A weight of a promise
by Dalasport
Summary: We were all driving each other into the dark pits of living hell. We were a ticking time bomb. A lie, so well held out in public that no one would have imagined that the perfect Nordics, the glorious Vikings of the past, would be so messed up on the inside. But we were.


We stick together. That was our promise. A promise we made a long time ago. Words we uttered around a warm fire, under the morning stars and the slight brush of the auroras. Cold hands linked together as we stared into the fire, everyone calm and serene. No funny business. No unnecessary outbursts or jokes. Just the five of us, together and firm. I wondered, many decades later, why it was turning out to be so hard to keep that promise.

We took the promise literally. We had been separated before, and we intended to never get so again. Separation at that time had hurt so much and none of us wanted that. So we decided that we would share a house. A family, living together under one roof. Then came the issue of where. Of course we wanted it to be in our own countries. I wanted it to be in the Finnish woods. Norway wanted his mountains, Iceland his lush green hills and waterfalls, Sweden his calm countryside and Denmark the bleach white sands of his shores. After hours of arguing we came to the conclusion of moving every three years. First we'd be in Denmark. Next in Norway and so on. The first decade was wonderful. The best period of my life. We took our time building each house, three years in each country sufficient enough for us to build up a decent three story house. I have to admit, that after we finished our third house at Iceland's and headed straight to my woods I was getting a bit tired. We had taken nine years to build three different houses but we'd never really settled in any of them. But I didn't complain, knowing that when we finished the cycle and started a new one in Denmark, it would all be worth it. All the years we'd spent on those houses would finally give us time to make them our homes. So I pulled up my best smile and kept going. The longing for my own land and people had been so overwhelming those nine years I'd been away, that I pushed all weariness away. I was going home.

The next three years went by far too fast for my liking, and before I knew it we had finished our cottage and were heading to Sweden. The minute I stepped onto Swedish soil I felt the tinge of longing to turn and run back into the familiarity of my own land. Sweden however looked calmer than he had in years. I had forgotten that he had been away for the longest, being last in the cycle. That thought kept me in place, and we started our fifth and last house.

Each house was different but all had a similar organization to it. The first floor we had dedicated to things we would end up sharing. A kitchen, living room, dining room and so on. The second floor housed our bedrooms. And lastly, the third floor kept our studies. One little office room for each of us to do our paperwork and national business in. In addition to that we decided to push a library there, since almost all of us enjoyed reading, with the exception of a certain Dane. A bathroom was on each story as well.

When we entered our home in Denmark we all sighed contently, though no one louder than the self proclaimed king of Nordic soil. It would be our first time living in one of our creations. The first time we would really settle down with each other on our own command. The only luggage we carried with us was our clothes and a few personal items, as we had furnished each house uniquely. Denmark plummeted himself into the lavished couch as Norway and Iceland headed upstairs with their clothes. Sweden squeezed my hand as we followed, ignoring the Dane's loud snarky comments on our "obvious chemistry". When we arrived upstairs I could see that the brothers had started one of their sibling wars, both of them wearing slight smirks as the pestered each other. I smiled widely, my heart telling me that this was the best idea we had ever had.

The three years passed with tremendous speed. I had never laughed so much in my life. Everyone bore a smile, certain three stoic nations with more hidden smiles but smiles none the less. We always had beer and we had never been so much in sync than at that time. When the time came to go to Norway we didn't falter as we stepped onto the plane. And again, as soon as we touched ground the Norwegian's whole body seemed to calm into peaceful contentment. We settled down into our mountain house and continued on like we were still in Denmark.

We went on like this for years, until Denmark said that moving every three years was a bit too much hassle, and we, albeit a bit reluctantly, decided to make it ten years between moves. The Dane could be convincing when he wanted to, and the next ten years were spent at his personal heart of the world. It was at that point that my brain started telling me that this wouldn't work. But my heart was still content so I shushed the thoughts down and kept on smiling to my family that I had come to love so much. But as the years went on I found it harder and harder and harder to smile. Things were going sour, and fast. I saw it first when I walked past Norway's bedroom when we had been staying in Sweden for six years. The Norwegian had clad all his room in red, white and blue, his flag hanging from every crevice he could find. Norway had conjured up and old CD, a thing the world had long since thrown out into the sea of ideas that had been bettered and upgraded as the golden age of electronics bloomed. The music disc was spinning inside a black CD player, the notes, coming out of the dark gray speakers, beautiful but saddening. A woman started singing, timidly but gorgeously, in Norway's own native tongue. I looked towards the Norwegian on the bed as the woman's singing started going into elf like tones of otherworldly music that couldn't belong to our current time. Norway lay in his bed, eyes glistening with tears as he looked straight up into the colours of his flag that covered the ceiling. If I hadn't known better I would have thought he'd be grieving someone dear. But I didn't know better, and soon I would start seeing that feeling that the Norwegian had displayed in a lot of eyes around the house.

Two years later, and we were still in Sweden. I found myself on the second floor again, carrying a laundry basket as I hummed a tune. But as I walked past the open door of the library I stopped in my tracks. Iceland sat inside, clutching an old book with all his might. I recognized the book in seconds, seeing it to be the book that had vanished from one of Iceland's oldest museums without a trace. A museum that stored items from the island's part of the Viking age.

The Icelander seemed to be reading the ancient words, his hands caringly flipping the pages with practiced hands. His eyes were glistening with unshed tears, his gaze turning from his usual stoic nature into one of longing and regret. His hands trembled as the first tear ran down his cheek and onto the calf skin that had been used at that time. At the sight of the tear on his precious book he closed it with a mournful expression and slid the large leather bound book into a hidden shelf, under the floorboards behind one of the armchairs.

I backtracked out of sight, before the youth would see me. No, not youth. Iceland was an adult. And had been for a very long time. It didn't matter how young he looked upfront, he had centuries on his shoulders and if one would look closer they would see that he was anything but young.

When we moved to Denmark again, I started catching myself doing similar things as the brothers. I kept my room as Finnish as I could. I even put up a sign, banning anyone into stepping into my Finnish little part in Denmark. Not even Sweden was allowed. I only cooked Finnish meals when I was on dinner duty and I refused any liquor that wasn't from my native land. I also started listening to music that reminded me of home. My real home. Because I had figured out by then, just as the other two had, that I would never be at peace in another country. But we had made a promise. So I held tightly on to things that tricked myself into believing I was home.

We didn't laugh or smile nearly as much as we did back when this all started. Or at least it wasn't genuine any longer. I held my smile up, for old time sake. But I could tell that there were only two people who still fell for it.

When we had spent nine years at Denmark's he decided that we should extend the year limit to twenty. Norway said yes right away. I knew it was only because he was next in line, and to an extent I understood him. I would want as much time at home too, but I could see Iceland gripping the table tightly, his eyes shining with fury I had learned, from experience, was dangerous. Iceland was right after Norway in line, and that meant he had spent thirty years away from his island, and if this new rule would be set, he would have to wait for another twenty before he got home again. But just as he was about to open his mouth Sweden gave his consent. I didn't say anything, the rule in our family being that three positives was enough to pass the law. Iceland was close to exploding, and I knew that something needed to be done before he went berserk. But I was too late. Denmark announced that the new law would be set right away, which meant that we would stay in our Danish spot for the next eleven years. Suddenly Iceland would have to endure thirty years instead of twenty and I watched as something snapped inside of the silver haired Nordic in front of us all. No one else noticed as he slipped out of the house, Norway being in a full blown argument with Denmark as Sweden sat at the table, picking at his food with little interest. I was speechless. I sat down in my seat with shock, the image in my head being of the youngest of us. I didn't understand why he hadn't just said something. Opposed the idea that didn't benefit any of us. But then again, I didn't say anything either. And by the looks of it, Norway was starting to regret having said yes.

When we had gone through eighteen years at Norway's, one of Iceland's volcano erupted, leaving the country in chaos. Once again, air traffic was halted all over the continent as letters started raining through our door, all addressed to Iceland. The Icelander disappeared into his study, not coming out for days on end. Letters just kept coming as the volcano showed no signs of stopping any time soon. All we could do was slide the letters under his study door as he refused to open up.

I remember a time where Norway would bust the door down with Denmark's axe if it meant helping his brother. I remember a time where Denmark would sit outside Iceland's door and just talk, until he came out. I remember a time where Sweden would leave warm meals outside the Icelander's door, knowing he'd smell it and grab it when he felt like it. And I remember, that when it was someone else in Iceland's position, the island nation would sing quietly for them, his soothing voice blending in with the mysterious words of the olden language the north once spoke, knowing it would calm them down.

And first of all, I remember when I would spend all my energy trying to help in every way I could. We had all contributed to being support for each other. I still did my best to help, but I felt I just couldn't anymore. Any words would be meaningless, and hollow.

At that time I figured it out. None of us were happy anymore. Sweden was dulled into nothing. He didn't pick up his tools anymore. His shed behind the house had been untouched for quite some time now. He didn't cook anything more advanced than hamburgers and his painting supplies had been thrown up to the attic. Denmark was out of control. He'd go out at night and bring home bloodied sheep with a big grin plastered on, a glint in his eyes that shone with danger.

We were all driving each other into the dark pits of living hell. We were a ticking time bomb. A lie, so well held out in public that no one would have imagined that the perfect Nordics, the glorious Vikings of the past, would be so messed up on the inside.

But we still stuck together. Our promise standing strong, even though we had crumbled to the ground, crippling ourselves with the weight of words we would never have dreamed would send us to this state of mind.

_But we were still together._

* * *

**_A/n:_ **I don't even know what to think about this. It just... came out. I didn't do any planning, nor have I ever thought about this concept before, but it just wrote itself, I guess.

If you are a reader of my story "The Dark Nordics" (Yeah, I know. original title -.- ), then don't despair. The next chapter is almost, almost finished. I just need to wrap it up at the end and fix some stuff around the rough edges.

Thanks for reading ^^

~Dala


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